


Spiral

by naboojakku



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Adam Driver Smut, Anxiety Attacks, Cock Warming, Complete, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Devotion, Dominant Flip Zimmerman, Established Relationship, F/M, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Modern Era, Naked Cuddling, Neck Kissing, No Plot/Plotless, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Quiet Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboojakku/pseuds/naboojakku
Summary: You have a panic attack and start spiraling without your boyfriend there to pull you out of it. Flip arrives in time and knows just how to calm you down.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 103





	Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> **watched blackkklansmen for the first time last week and inevitably, as with all of AD’s characters, I was inclined to write something** 😶

It’s happening again. 

You’ve been doing so well, too. As you sink to the bathroom floor, hands gripping the sides of your head as if _that_ will do any good, you wonder in a vacant sort of way what’s triggered this particular meltdown. 

For weeks and weeks you’ve had it together. You’ve kicked _ass_. Freshman year of college is supposed to come with many dangers—homesickness, burn out from unanticipated stress, the infamous “freshman-15” weight gain—but you haven’t had problems with any of it. The ease with which you’ve handled the beginning of the semester has surprised you more than anyone. At this point in life, you’ve grown skilled at anticipating problems, but for once, there isn’t any. 

But you know yourself well enough to always be on the lookout for the next big mental break. Vigilance is everything. 

But it hadn’t come. And it hadn’t come. And it _still_ hadn’t come. September and October flew by faster than a bullet train, and suddenly it’s early November, and midterms are right around the corner. Mom and Dad call twice a week to check in, and you’re constantly chatting with friends over text, FaceTime, Discord, and Twitter. You have a roommate in the two-bedroom apartment you share, but she’s usually out somewhere—an unapologetic party girl. Homework’s been manageable, tests and quizzes have been graced with passing grades, and you’ve even managed to lose a few pounds, despite everybody’s assurances that you really don’t need to. 

Life’s been good. Great, actually. Your boyfriend is an absolute angel. A big man with a dangerous job who loves to take care of you—who loves to shower you with gifts and affection and praise one moment and spankings and hair-pulling and hard fucking the next. You’ve only been dating for a month, but you’re pretty sure he’s the one. Once you (and your parents, of course) got over the seventeen year age difference, things were more or less perfect.

But then. The inevitable. 

You squeeze your eyes shut against the bright fluorescent lights of the shared bathroom. There’s a faint ringing in your ears, kind of like a wind tunnel, but it’s faint, which means you still have some time to get it under control. A deep breath in and a controlled exhale clears your mind enough to allow you to wonder just what caused this. You know the answer, of course. It’s always the same. 

There is no cause. You’re just broken.

You first noticed it five days ago. In a fit of bad humor some many years ago, you dubbed this feeling The Descent, and for whatever reason the name stuck. You know when The Descent starts because the first thing that happens is a creeping numbness. It is noteworthy precisely because it is so simple. 

You’ll be watching TV or studying for a calculus test, and you’ll notice in an absent sort of way that the laugh track is spinning and you aren’t laughing. You're not irritated by the canned sound, either. You’re just...blank.

The looming exam will suddenly become meaningless. Who cares if you fail? If you pass, that’ll be fine, but if you don’t, well, that’ll be fine too. 

You’ll snap out of it, of course, and laugh with the people on TV, then suddenly realize you do care about the results of the upcoming exam, but over the next few hours and days it will consume you more and more until your default state is that familiar, creeping numbness. A complete absence. 

Then one day it takes over. 

While that’s happening, you’ll notice random bouts of unexplained anxiety, interspersed with fleeting surges of depression that leaves you hollow-eyed. Sleep will either be four hours or twelve—no in-between. You’ll eat less and less and less until a day or more has passed and you realize, with a mild sort of surprise, that the fruit salad you bought over the weekend is going bad. TV becomes less interesting but useful as background noise. Mom and Dad’s bi-weekly calls will go off without a hitch, and they won’t catch on that something’s off, but the whole time you’re on the phone you’ll feel as if someone else is using your mouth to speak. 

By this point, you know something’s wrong—you’ve recognized The Descent. But that’s the insidious part. You only recognize it when it’s already too late. 

Now, on the bathroom floor, you struggle to hold yourself together. Your mind races with thoughts that aren’t coherent because they pile up on top of each other like a deck of cards. Worries and reminders and memories. Flashes of color—sunset shades and watercolor blurs—and a combination of scents that don’t make any sense—cinnamon and plastic wrap and gasoline and laundry detergent. Nonsense, complete nonsense. All it does is add to the chaos in your broken little head. 

You swallow, and swallow again, and then swallow a third time. Your throat is dry as dust to the point that it’s uncomfortable, and your hands are slick and clammy on your cheeks. You feel disgusting and pathetic, but those feelings are background. Your heart is so loud it’s overtaking the ringing in your ears. Your heart is an engine pushed too far. You feel the thumping in your wrists and chest and throat like a living thing. 

You’re so hot, you’re burning, and your face is so flushed it’s probably on fire. Distantly, you hear...something. A disturbance in the air. Your roommate’s just come home. This only adds to your panic. 

_She’s going to see what a mess you are,_ you tell yourself, knowing this won’t help anything at all but unable to stifle the words. _She’s going to witness firsthand how pathetic and incapable you are of handling tasks so easy. Even a baby could make dinner! A monkey! A braindead rat! You might as well give up._

Around and around these thoughts swirl. They’re more powerful than the little voice inside yourself that sounds suspiciously like your boyfriend. It tries to reassure you, but The Descent has reached its peak and there’s absolutely no way it can touch you here, in the dark, in the lightless, in the depths of a hell so personal your name hangs from the entrance like a welcome banner. 

You whimper and crush your face to the tops of your bare knees, rocking and gripping the sides of your face to keep your brain inside your head where it belongs. There’s a dragging noise, like air being sucked through a thin hole, and a beat later you realize it’s _you_ , you’re making that noise, your chest is so tight there isn’t room for anything but the barest sip of oxygen, but the hole is closing, growing ever smaller, and soon you won’t be able to breathe at all, soon everything will be lightless and empty and blank, soon _nothing_ will matter because you’ll be—

A distant crash. Sudden motion out of the corner of your eye. Instantly you’re thinking, _Home invasion_ , quickly followed by, _My damn roommate always forgets to lock the door,_ followed by, _I can’t deal with this right now._

Then the panic surges again, and you’re consumed with a blinding, all-encompassing fear that this will be the rest of your life. _This_ , right here and now, on the bathroom floor— _this_ will be your eternity. No escape, no reprieve. You will be here until the moon falls from the sky, until the oceans dry up, until there’s nothing left but an empty, timeless void that will exist and exist and exist with no end in sight—

Hands on your arms. A voice—a familiar one, but so far away it might as well be across the street and down the block. Deep and velvet smooth, it reminds you, weirdly, of whiskey and autumn. Fall colors. These associations tumble through you until you finally land on the biggest one—flannel.

 _Flip_. His name gasps through your chest, rises in your throat, but there’s not enough air to push it out. Flip’s here. 

Why is Flip here?

“Oh, kitten, _no_.” He’s saying words in a voice like heartbreak, but they slide past you, meaningless. His hands slip under your knees and behind your back, and then you’re in the air. He carries you to another room, but your eyes are still closed so you don’t know where. The living room, maybe.

Seconds pass or minutes—time is slippery in this state. You grind your teeth, but it does nothing to stop the odd gasping. Your clammy hands loosen their grip and, agitated, you dig your nails into the sides of your face, determined to maintain your hold. The pain is an added bonus. The pain clears your mind, wipes the fog from your brain, even just temporarily.

Flip is talking again. “No, no, none of that. None of that, baby—” And he’s removing your hands which is not what he’s supposed to do, so you struggle, you fight against his pull as he lowers you down, but Flip’s strong—he’s too strong, and he uses that strength against you to gently but firmly place your hands down by your sides. 

You roll away from him, and he lets you, and you curl into a tiny ball on one side of the mattress. That’s where you are—your bedroom. It smells like Japanese Cherry Blossom because that’s the lotion you use the most, and usually it’s a pleasant smell, but right now it’s horrifyingly potent to the point you think you might actually puke. 

The mattress dips and heaves, and then Flip is there again, and he’s wrapping himself around you from behind, his big body bending and folding to surround your own. His hands slide beneath you and, in one quick, smooth motion, he turns you around. Your eyes fly open despite yourself, and you see him for the first time.

 _Flannel,_ you think immediately, eyes grazing his shirt. _It’s green today._ You think this color looks the best on him, although he seems to prefer red. He’s in jeans and still wearing his big black boots. _Stompin’ boots,_ he calls them, always with a lopsided sort of smile that sets your heart thumping. 

But now your heart thumps for a different reason, and the worry on his face reminds you that you’re not in a good enough state to appreciate his clothing choices. 

“Hey there,” he says in a voice that rasps, as if he’s been screaming all day. Maybe he has. His job is incredibly distressing, after all. “It’s okay, kitten, just breathe for me, alright?” 

Your eyes are too wide, and his words don’t make sense. Your body is doing something weird, and it’s only when Flip puts his giant mitts on you that you realize you’re shaking violently. There’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows and a frown on his face, but his hands are gentle, and reflected in his eyes is an emotion that strikes you to your very core.

He’s afraid.

 _Flip_ is afraid. You say this to yourself slowly because it’s not easy to believe. He handles all kinds of criminals in his day-to-day life as a detective; there’s not much that scares him anymore. But right now, that is undeniably _fear_ on your boyfriend’s face, and it shocks you out of your meltdown. 

“ _Daddy_ ,” you gasp, the word little more than a phantom of a whisper, but relief surges into his face, and his arms wrap you tightly to his chest. It’s warm here, and you recognize that feeling of safety that’s unique to him and him alone.

“I know,” he whispers, voice so unbearably gentle, “I know, baby, I know. It’s okay, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Concentrate on breathing for me, alright?”

You nod once and do just that, burrowing deeper into his embrace, wanting nothing more than to hide yourself inside him. When you think _safe_ and _comfort_ and _love_ , you think of Flip. That’s how it’s been since the moment you met him.

Flip’s lips brush the top of your head. “Daddy’s here, kitten. Everything is…” He falters, and you feel rather than see him swallow heavily. “Everything is gonna be just fine. Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

And you believe it. You believe it because when Flip says he’s going to do something, there’s no _if, and_ , or _buts_ about it. He never breaks his word, not for anything. 

His voice dips lower, and he squeezes you extra tight. “You scared Daddy, kitten. You scared him real bad.”

You hiccup a sob. In all the chaos, you lost your phone. The Descent swept over you very quickly today, and you know it’s been hours and hours since you last checked your messages. Flip likes to hear from you at least once every hour. He worries about you when he’s not around to keep the big, bad world at bay. He has a right to worry, of course. As he can plainly see, you’re a mess.

Your heart is no longer slamming in your chest like a bull battering its cage, but you’re still shaking and gasping and thinking wild thoughts. Flip’s hands glide down your arms and smooth over your waist. He covers you with his body, drawing you beneath him so he can touch everywhere at once. The weight of him is better than any sedative; the pressure of his body on yours forces you to stabilize in the here and now. Gradually, your thoughts stop swirling and your limbs stutter into soft trembles rather than violent shakes. 

Slowly, you come back to yourself. 

Oxygen floods your veins, and you drag in a big mouthful like it’s been days since your last breath of fresh air. You’re tucked under Flip’s chin, your mouth pressed to his thick flannel, and beneath your ear his heart pounds a nice, steady beat. You love that sound. It might be the most perfect sound in the whole world. 

“Flip,” you whisper, fingers tightening in the material of his shirt. You say his name as often as you can—it’s a good name. The _best_ name. 

“I love you,” he says immediately, shifting so they’re eye to eye on your big pillow. His are a light brown but so crowded with worry they’re nearly black. You touch a finger to his chin, and his mouth dips to kiss the tip. 

You smile weakly. “I’m sorry.” 

“ _Never_ apologize,” he says fiercely, eyes suddenly blazing. He cups the back of your neck and presses his forehead to yours. “It’s not your fault, kitten.”

“I know,” you say softly, although sometimes you can’t help but wonder. 

“How do you feel? Do you need anything?” The worry surges back into his voice like a radio suddenly turned to full volume. “Water? Or a blanket or—“

“No, no, Daddy, don’t leave!” You hug him with all your strength, and he settles again, his big thigh stretched across your hips.

He sighs, sending small wisps of hair across your forehead. “I was so fuckin’ worried.”

You wince. Nowadays he only curses when he’s _really_ upset. He knows you don't like it, and when you first met he had such a potty mouth. 

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he murmurs, breathing in her hair. “Three hours, kitten. Three hours and I couldn’t take it a second longer. I had to come check on you.”

Tears smart your eyes. He left work early to come see if you were okay. _How selfish of you!_ that miserable little voice inside her trills. 

“Daddy,” you whisper helplessly, gazing up at him. “I’m so sorry—”

He growls, cutting you off. “What did I say about apologizing? Stop that. None of this is your fault. You know it, and I know it.”

You sniffle and lower your eyes. You’ve disappointed him enough for one day.

His voice goes soft again. “I’m being too mean, aren’t I? Goddamnit.” He whispers this last part harshly and shuts his eyes, dragging in air like he’s starving for it.

Without opening his eyes, he says, “I told you I was scared, but you can’t understand what it was like, not knowing where you were, if you were okay, if something had _happened_ to you—“ He broke off, breathing heavily.

Flip swallows and continues after a moment. “You got me losing my mind, kitten. All damn day, every damn day, all I can think about is you. When I should be working I’m thinkin’ about how soft you look in the morning and that cute little face you make when I say somethin’ smart. You wreck me.”

You stare at him. This is the most candid he’s ever been. Sure, he tells you constantly how much he loves and adores you, but he’s rarely this straightforward about his feelings. You must’ve really frightened him. Guilt expands in your chest, even though you really do know it’s not your fault. Probably. 

“You wreck me,” he repeats softly, kissing the corners of your mouth. “I’d be nothin’ without you, you know.”

You instantly shake your head, which pushes a small smile to his lips, but he nods slowly, never taking his eyes from yours. “It’s true. When I wake in the morning, I’m lookin’ for you. When we go to bed at night, I can’t sleep peacefully ‘til you’re tucked up against me. I need you.”

Your lip wobbles, but you manage to suppress the tears. This latest attack has left you utterly exhausted, but Flip’s words are restoring some of that banished hope. There’s some light in you yet.

“I need you, too,” you whisper, tracing the curve of his neck with a light finger. _More than anyone._

For a long while the two of you just breathe together. It’s a soft, shushing sound like waves, and Flip hums deep in his chest—a vibration like muffled thunder. Gradually, it puts you at ease. The tears, few though they were, subside. Your heart manages a sustainable rhythm, and your gasping dissolves into erratic sniffles with the occasional hiccup thrown in. 

You sigh—it’s a shaky sound, but Flip’s head lifts from the pillow. He knows what that means. The worst is over. 

His lips brush a feather-light line down your neck, and when he settles his mouth in the hollow of your throat, you breathe a soft moan. With hardly any pressure at all, Flip’s lips press to your skin and stay there for a long minute. You close your eyes and allow yourself to remember that nothing can hurt you. Your brain is a tricky little monster, but at the end of the day, it’s you who gets to decide. 

“Daddy’s sorry,” he mumbles against your neck, hiding his eyes. “Daddy’s sorry he didn’t get to you sooner.”

You shake your head, frantic with denial, but he lays his head on your chest with a low sigh, and you don’t want to buck him off. Your hands settle in his thick hair, fingers twirling the ebony strands. He’s so handsome it hurts. 

“I need to take better care of my kitten,” he continues, nudging between your breasts with his nose. It’s playful, but you’re too exhausted to explore it further. 

“Not your fault,” you whisper, hating that he blames himself. There’s no point to this illness, if illness is what you want to call it, and you do. It comes and goes, and aside from a strict routine and prescribed medication, there’s really nothing to be done but to endure the best you can. 

With Flip, it’s never been so easy. 

“Daddy loves you,” he says roughly, raising his head to kiss you hard on the mouth. It’s desperate and claiming—a kiss that says, _You’re mine and you’re not going anywhere._

You swallow and kiss the tip of his chin. Drowsily, you tell him, “I love you, too, Daddy. I love you so much.”

Sleep pulls insistently at your eyelids. Flip senses you won’t be around for much longer, so he sets out to complete the necessary tasks before you slip away. 

Moving with a gentleness that defies his thick, calloused hands, Flip undresses you. It’s been done so many times before that at this point he could do it with his eyes closed. First he slides your shorts down your legs, carefully shifting your hips to peel your panties off, and then his hands find their way to your shirt. This is the tricky part, and you do try to make it easy for him, but your movements only seem to hinder rather than help—he laughs quietly and pulls your arms one at a time through the sleeves of your shirt. 

You’re bare before him now, but before you can so much as shiver, Flip’s drawing the covers up to your chin, suffusing you in warmth. Your eyelids grow heavy as you watch him flick off the lights and gently close your bedroom door. He turns the lock, too—your roommate’s been known to barge in unexpectedly. 

With several sharp movements, Flip undresses himself, tossing aside his jeans and flannel. He climbs into bed, burrowing under the covers with you, and slides you into his embrace, his chest to your back. You’re surrounded by his scent and his warmth, and the last dregs of an uncomfortable pressure fade from your chest. This is home. Right here in Flip’s arms. No matter how bad it gets, no matter if they’re at his house or in your car, there’s no place so peaceful, so welcoming and full of love, as right here with Flip.

He mumbles nonsense as he shifts a knee between your legs, pinning you in place. You’d never go anywhere, of course, but he likes to know you don’t have a choice. He’s very adamant about your safety. Sometimes he won’t even let you leave your apartment without him because he’s worried someone will try to take you from him. Maybe you should dissuade him of these ideas, but… It’s nice to be so wanted. 

Flip nuzzles your head and kisses your temples, his dark stubble scratching your sensitive skin. You sigh happily and curl into him. 

A few minutes later, Flip shifts again, and when he does you feel something blunt probing you from behind. Without opening your eyes, you part your legs just enough for him to slide his cock inside you. These days you’re constantly wet, and sleeping naked with your hot detective boyfriend is one sure way to slick you up. His cock slips past your folds and expands your walls—much easier now than the first time, when he struggled to fit, and you clutched the bedsheets in fists so tight your arms trembled. 

His length is thick and pulsing with heat, and you inch back a little to help him along. In no time, he’s seated fully inside you—stuffed so far into your aching cunt that his twitches become yours. Hips slotted against your backside, Flip adjusts his knee between your legs, opening you up wider so he can slip just a bit deeper. 

You moan deep in your chest, and his arms wrap around you from behind, one hand sliding over your ribs to cup one small, round breast. Only when you started dating Flip did you come to appreciate your boobs. They’re a perfect fit for his bear-like hands, and he loves to lick them. 

“How’s that, hm? Feel good, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you sigh, relaxing into his embrace. Always tight, but never _too_ tight. 

This is exactly what you need right now. He won’t let you cum tonight, but that’s okay. It’s enough to just be held like this—like something precious. 

“Daddy’s little cockwarmer,” he purrs, lips brushing the back of your neck. “So warm and slick.”

“For you, Daddy.”

“Only for me.” He bites the nape of your neck, making you whine, and breathes heavily against your skin. “This pussy belongs to Daddy, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you agree easily, sinking into his warmth and his words. He never misses a chance to remind you that you belong to him and him alone. He makes sure you never forget it, not for a moment. 

“You’ve gotta...,” he mumbles, gripping the back of your neck. He moves quickly then—in one smooth motion, he twists you around so you’re chest to chest, and before you realize he’s not inside you anymore, his cock parts your folds a second time, and he seats himself to the hilt, his mouth swallowing your surprised gasp. 

You tentatively lean a cheek on his bare chest and close your eyes. “Thank you, Daddy.” It’s more comfortable this way, when your heart and his are aligned. 

“Move in with me.”

Sleepily, you murmur, “Hm?” 

“Move in with me,” he rumbles, voice a little clearer now. It’s not a question. “I don’t want you by yourself. Move in with me. Tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you agree. Flip’s always been the driving force behind your relationship. He lives in the fast lane—after one unofficial date you were his girlfriend, and less than a day later he was bouncing you on his cock until you cried and told him _yes, Daddy, I’m yours, I’m yours, Daddy,_ and a day after _that_ he was making long-term plans. _Marriage_ plans. 

You’ve never put up an ounce of resistance. He is exactly who you want—who you _need_. 

“Don’t ever leave me, kitten,” he whispers into your hair, arms tightening like he’s afraid you’ll be ripped away. “You’re my whole goddamned life.” 

You know you are. He tells you at least three times a day. 

“I won’t,” you reassure him, nibbling on the delicious spot where his neck meets his shoulder. “I won’t ever leave you, Daddy, I promise.”

Flip grumbles something unintelligible, but he kisses the top of your head one last time before your eyes shutter closed and you begin to drift. 

“Gonna take care of you forever.” His voice drops so low it’s hardly more than a rumble. “Gonna love you so hard, kitten.” 

He kisses you again and again and again, murmuring _I love you_ between heavy breaths. You feel it like a physical presence—his love so consuming you’d be happy to drown in it. 

You dream of his _I love you_ s until you wake in the morning to the real thing.

**Author's Note:**

> say hi!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/naboojakku)  
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/naboojakku/?hl=en)


End file.
